


Sacrifice was not created by mortal men

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Demons, Fallen Angels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Grace, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:32:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: You cut off your master's wings, feathers landing by your feet drenched in the red you thought only mortals could carry inside of them, and you remain silently by his side as he weeps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted September 22, 2016. 
> 
> This has been sitting on my drive forever! Fair warning i only watched half of season one before getting bored, but i really liked it up till then.  
> So have some sympathy for the devil ;). 
> 
> I own nothing, please enjoy!

He tells you to cut his wings, eyes glistening as he does, and his fists clenched too tight.

Breathing is a new thing for you both, but the irregularity of his concerns you. 

It's all so new to you. You are surrounded by lights, but they do not burn you as fire once did. There are voices here too, but they do not scream out sorrows or cry out their anguish as you have grown accustom to. So much is different in this new wild place, with flashing lights that blind and souls that do not flinch harshly at the sight of you. So much has changed, and there is so much to be unsure of. 

But you have never been one to disobey an order. So you do as you have been commanded. You cut off your master's wings, feathers landing by your feet drenched in the red you thought only mortals could carry inside of them, and you remain silently by his side as he weeps. 

You pretend you do not fear for him, the man you have vowed to serve until your last breath and then beyond, as he commits himself to this state. You sit by his side in silence and worry as your master bleeds for the first and for what you hope, but know will not be, the last time.

There is no god for you to pray to, and you have never desired one until this moment. You have never so strongly desired the relief that many receive from sitting on knees and bending heads. But as you watch him – the strongest being you have ever known – crumble before you, against your better judgment, you begin to doubt. 

Of course you do not tell him this, or reveal it in any way, and the only noise that remains between the two of you are the waves crashing. When you finally break the barrier it is by uttering your first words in the mortal realm. 

Mortality, you tell him, is unbecoming. 

The words feel bitter as they pass your lips, you contribute the feeling to the mood, but light and airy at the same time. It’s such a contrast, you think, to the heaviness each syllable carried in hell.

His shoulders shake after your remark and you pretend it doesn't worry you that you cannot tell his laughter from his sobs.


	2. Fire that scorches the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He burns in ways Angels and Demons cannot see and mortals know nothing of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted September 22, 2016. 
> 
> I own nothing, please enjoy!

Sometimes hell, he thinks somewhere between his fourth and fifth glass, is all anyone deserves. 

There are things that remind him of hell. Sometimes it's small things, like the way the mortals move on his dance floor, or the way voices echo off the walls and ceiling of his club. Sometimes the things are larger, like hooded eyes filled with bloodlust, and the way the human form can bend, whether it's between sheets or tied to an iron pole. 

He remembers every detail of his time, between grabbing drinks and winking at passing men and women, and pretends he doesn't. 

(He remembers falling – the grasping at passing clouds, crying and watching as his tears froze and were entrapped and placed on the necks of his siblings as ornate jewelry for them to display and for all to behold – because he will never be able to forget.)

Because the pits, the red and blood and gore all drenched in fire and rage, burnt so wrong yet so right and no matter how many bottles he empties – how many eyes, mouths and arms he drowns in – the burning can't be replicated. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. 

He burns in ways demons and angels cannot see and mortals know nothing of. He burns and he laughs and he pours himself another drink and he doesn't once glance at the unmoving hands of the silver clock hanging on his wall, or the woman cloaked in midnight standing expectantly, protectively, above him. 

"Burn me." He says as he turns to stare at her, and there is liquor dripping from his wide smiling lips and ecstasy entangled in his eyes, and she isn't foolish enough to disobey the man she made a vow to; so she nods her head and simply asks, "How?" and watches as his smile grows impossibly wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I'm rhymesofblue on tumblr:).


	3. What becomes of the fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to laugh, to stand and scream in her face. To ask her what she knows, what any mortal knows, could know, has known, of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, enjoy.

Dr. Linda looks at him, eyes calculating and clinical interest in her smile, and says, "You know, I was told once, that grief is just a word with no meaning." 

She states it like a fact, and her posture radiates calm and curious. Her eyes search his face for any sign of a reaction, and he finds pleasure in her disappointment when he gives her nothing. 

She stares and he stares back and pushes everything he can't say down deeper inside. 

He wants to laugh, to stand and scream in her face. To ask her what she knows, what any mortal knows, could know, has known, of grief. 

(The first, and one of the only he thinks, mortals to truly know of grief is Cain. The first brother, first murder, first earthly son: the boy who lost everything, cast out of everything known, by God himself. 

He doesn't look too closely at the similarities between the two of them, too afraid of what he will find: two cast out sons who wouldn't bow and desired love.)

He wants to say: do you know what it feels like to fall? To wake in your own ashes, still burning and healing all at once because you are alive as much as you are dead: halfway surviving a devastating drop with an agony surrounding you that never completely goes away.

He wants to scream, did you see your brother's and sister's faces as you fell? Raw sorrow ripping through your heart at each look - some angry, some betrayed, some devastated, some hungry, some joyous, some pleased, but in the end they're all the same as they watched him fall fall fall until they couldn't see anymore - nearly as painful as dear old dad's initial blow.

He wants to show her his true face, the one he buries deep deep down. The one he hid from his brothers and sisters, the one God grew to hate, taught humanity to fear. He wants to say: you know nothing of loss, nothing of the agony that first strikes and the numb bitterness it instills in you, buried deep beneath your skin like another layer.

You know nothing of grief; I watched my siblings faces as I fell, fell from the pedestal my father placed me upon and then knocked me from, watched as he created new beings to occupy his time and taught them to hate me. I lost everything but my existence, the one thing I desired to be truly rid of, and you talk to me of grief? 

He wants to say it all, scream it, whisper it so long as someone will hear. 

(Hear but not listen, that's the trick isn't it?)

But instead he looks her straight in the eye, and smiles when he sees bumps rise on her flesh, "You know, love, I think I've heard that too."


	4. And when I rise you will see me in all my raging glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe doesn't know what it is about Maz that makes her skin prickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. I refuse to tag Chloe as I doubt she will show up again in any of my fics. Not against her in any way, I just can't write her. But, anyway, we shall see:)

Chloe doesn't know what it is about Maz that makes her skin prickle. Maybe it's the smirk she's so used to seeing on the other woman's face, smug and angry and so hungry that Chloe can't help but wonder hungry for what, but she isn't stupid or suicidal enough to actually ask.

Maybe it's the fire in her eyes, flames and thirst and more anger than her smirk could ever portray 

(Most of the times, in her more desperate of moments when the woman seems much too far gone to fall in line with any form of humanity, Chloe thinks that's all Maz must be underneath: rage in its purest, most beautiful form. It's a terrifying type of beauty.)

There's so much about Maz she doesn't understand, and Maz must feel her stare because soon she's turning her face towards her, body falling back into Chloe's as she leans over from her barstool - smoky eyed and daring: bored and curious - and gives a throaty laugh as she raises her hand from beneath the bar, revealing an untouched bottle of whiskey. 

"Want a shot?" Maz asks, a devious smile working its way onto her face and something Chloe can't place falls into her voice. Chloe wants to ask her a million questions, wants to tell her to just sit still so she can figure her out - she's a detective dammit, it's her job to do this, so why can't she just figure her out. Demon, a voice deep in her mind whispers and she laughs it away - but instead she smiles back, kind and still contemplating, and says, "I won't tell him if you don't." And after all the rage she's seen come from this woman, it is a relief to hear the humanity in her laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm rhymesofblue on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated, and come follow me on tumblr as rhymesofblue!


End file.
